


Some Mortal Instruments

by Applesap



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, One-Sided Crush, Vomiting, vampire issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesap/pseuds/Applesap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where I put my TMI drabbles/one-shots, because I have to be honest with myself: It's gotten bad. Stories range around 200 to 3000 words and the genres/themes vary.</p><p>latest chapter character focus: Simon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simon - feelings for your Bro

**Author's Note:**

> I have like 20 files of drabbles I don't have a plot for/can't use in big stories and they keep piling up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon is a little unknowning bisexual who unfortunately already has a girlfriend.

He stared deep into his eyes trying to process what just happened. George's face just as stunned as his, although a little bit paler in shock. He just, he– what?

"Is this because you overheard me saying that I thought you were hotter than Jace?" he finally answered. The soft kiss George had put on Simon's lips had left a prickling afterimage.

George groaned and put his fingers to his eyes, apologizing over and over. "Yes."

"Oh crap. Dude, hey. George," Simon said, grasping for George's slack and defeated shoulders, his words unable to form a coherent sentence and satisfying answer. "Err- It's okay?"

George said nothing, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "It's not okay, just tell me straight up man," he said. "Tell me you're totally straight and you never want to see me– "

"Hey, hey, whoa now. I told you, it's fine. I was just… surprised," Simon finally answered in response to the soft kiss George had put on his lips.

"But you're totally straight," George said, unable to look him in the eye.

"I, uh…"

"I know, you don't have to tell me," George said, giving him a quick look with shielding eyes while he shrugged away from Simon's touch. "I'm sorry." He got up, balling his fist and head hung low, exiting their dorm.

Simon had to stop himself from making a "wow, rude," joke. George liked him. He put his hand on his brows.

\---

"I'm sorry man. I should've asked google."

"We got no internet here dude."

"Shit you're right…This place sucks."

"I want you to know it's ok though."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

end.


	2. Jace - Trial and Error

"Jonathan Christopher has been found guilty of siding with Valentine Morgenstern and showing signs of disloyalty to the Clave and our laws. Because his reasoning is questionable, he will be put under surveilance and stripped of his marks in retribution for the duration of six months in which he will not be involved in Shadow World activity, which includes his current job as a Shadowhunter. Family visits will be permitted, provided a supervisor from our choosing is present as Maryse and Robert Lightwood are serving their sentence regarding involvements with Valentine themselves as well. Further inquisition will determine the possible extension of his sentence."

He gritted his teeth so firm that five hours after the trial he could still feel his jaw aching.

He had cursed and yelled at them to make them see that it was not him doing all that. It was all part of Valentine's plan to use him for his own agenda and then throw him away when he was no longer needed anymore. Worst of all, the Clave – who was supposed to side with him instead of Valentine – wouldn't even take what he had to say into consideration. His words meant nothing when their judgment was already set on humiliating him and banishing him from everything he knew.

He was escorted out of the court by Robert and Maryse and a spokesperson that served as the closest thing to a lawyer. Breathing heavily in and out through his nose prevented him from losing the last bit of dignity he had not to yell at them. His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his stare hard and cold in front of him. They needed more than a lousy trial to embarrass him.

"This is bullshit," he muttered.

"I know Jace," Maryse answered. "But you have to be strong for now. We'll talk about it later in private."

Jace gritted his teeth and kept quiet. He doubted an opportunity would come up in between talks and arrangements for them to talk about how to get him out of this mess.

He was led to a small room cramped with icons of angel glorifications. A statue of the angel Raziel stood at the far end of the room underneath a stained glass window, which was customary of most churches in Edris. The congested shelves had thick, leather torn books with crucifixes, David stars, a Saint Benedict Medal, and two fancy looking knives squashed in whatever nook and cranny they could fit. They sat down on wooden chairs carved with small, holy figures that prickled his skin with their tiny and sharp seams. His lawyer-slash-warden pulled a stack of papers from out of his suitcase and gave him and his adoptive parents the same copies which had a lot of little letters on them he didn't care to read.

Jace fingered the delicate feathers of an angel on his left armrest and crossed with his nail some of the being's many eyes out. If they existed, he would be the last Shadowhunter they would check.

"Jace please," Maryse whispered and nudged him.

Jace snorted and rolled his eyes. He got it, alright. They wanted to put him in some mundane's house so he would behave. Joke was on them, though. If his jailers weren't Shadowhunter trained they wouldn't stand a chance. See you, suckers.

"We have a couple of families available," the spokesperson said, as if it would matter which household he'd choose.

Jace shifted in his chair and gave the paper in front of him a once-over. "Very interesting," he said, pushed the paper back at the woman and went back to demolishing his armrest. Very interesting indeed. It seems that only he was given the locations of these new households instead of the solo family names Maryse and Robert had.

Maryse and Robert turned their heads back at the spokesperson. "I'm sorry to say this, miss Brackenbury" Maryse said. "But maybe it would be better if he were to be placed in a household somewhat more familiar. He doesn't know these people."

The woman shook her head. "I'm afraid that isn't allowed. Special repercussions have already been made so that he won't be detected outside of New York City. If he is sighted near the New York institute it will be likely that Valentine will search out for him or that he will try to contact him again."

"But I wont!" Jace shouted. "You're an idiot to think that Valentine doesn't sources all over the U.S. to tell about my whereabouts, so it won't make a difference where you put me. He'll find me first! He needs me."

Halfway through his sentence Robert had pulled his arm with a painful grip and hissed at him. "Jace, that is enough. For the Angel's sake, pull yourself together."

Jace glowered at the spokesperson and then slowly sank back into his chair, Robert releasing his arm. The spokesperson returned the glare just as easily. "That is very dangerous talk, Jace. I suggest you don't say anything about Valentine at all the coming six months or you'll be looking at an extension of your sentence and that is the last thing you want. Your punishment for now is sitting back and letting it play out. I can't say what will be laid upon you if you slip up."

His heart skipped a beat. That wasn't how he intended that to come out.

"Alright," he said after a second of silence and picked the paper back up. "I'm telling you, it won't work, but alright."

The following two days was dedicated to packing his bags and saying his family goodbye under the supervision of the spokesperson. He merely glanced at Clary, who was speechless and had her fist clenched tightly and muttered something under her breath. He granted her a little smirk for that and thanked her, telling her that despite the way things had turned out, he was still glad they had met.

Then he took of.

end.


	3. Simon - Tense (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has to sit through a long car drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the beginning of City of Glass. I forgot how Clary went to Idris, actually.

Ever since he had first dug his way out of his grave he had been tense, but never had it been as acute as now. The small confinement of the car had him going stir-crazy. His hands vibrated so intensely that the motion blur around them was barely visible and if he wasn’t mindful, his leg wound bounce too hard on the car floor and kick straight through the metal beneath it. 

The car was full of smells and he ran through them in a matter of seconds. Little wisps of forgotten candy in the seams of the couch were a strong sour in contrast to the sweat and worn fabric of the interior. Many, many farts had been ripped in the seat next to him. Without looking, he smelled the sweet bread he had stuffed in the door’s storage when food was passed around. The car itself; Its metal, rust and oil. His clothes, which had come to smell more like detergent than of him over the weeks, and the clothes of his mother and sister in the front seats.

And then, lastly, came the smell of his mother and sister, which were odors he didn’t want to think too much about. And, as it happens in a small five-person car wherein there is no distraction and no way to go, their blood was what he paid 3 full hours of his attention to. Or at least, it was what he tried _not_ to think of.

“Simon, stop bouncing your leg,” Rebecca said, turning around in her seat to face him.

He looked down at his leg. His bouncing had become a steady rapping and he was patting his knee with one impatient hand. 

“Sorry,” he said and willed his body to stop moving.

He slumped his head back against the seat. Circles of light flashed through the dirtied car window right into his pupils without a sunscreen to shield him from their inutile heat. He closed and opened his eyes lazily.

In the blink of an eye he could make time go slower for himself, allowing his mind to drift off to other cars, though it would never last long enough to scrutinize every part of their indigenous characteristics. It was less like a cool superpower and more as if he had a built-in sensor that had its own trigger finger ready to go off whenever, unfocused and unexplained and always annoying. What purpose did that have in a car ride where little more than anything happened and breaks were few in between?

He folded his body and ran his fingers through his curls, pulling a shadow in front of his eyes. The spare bottles of stale pig’s blood he hid in the bottom of his backpack next to him rested on his mind like ice cubes. He wiggled his foot up and down without his heel reaching the carpeting and touched the tips of his incisors with his tongue, testing for sharpness. A speeding car passed them and Simon groaned. He tasted copper in his throat.

“Honey, are you okay? Are you feeling nauseous?” His mom looked at him through the rear view mirror, which he could hear because her eyes made a wet and groaning sound but her neck didn’t twist too much, which was a weird thing to be aware of, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Just queasy, mom,” he said from inbetween his knees. A spot of blood from where his incisor had cut his tongue lay like an ocean in his mouth. His hand started to vibrate again. “Motion sickness.”

“We’ll exit at the next stop. Lie down. You’ll feel better.”

He doubted that. Simon unfastened his seat belt, put his backpack on the end of the couch against the door and propped his shoulder on the bumpy car seats with his head leaning against his oversized make-shift pillow. The world turned around him, shifting from the cars and stripes of the road and trees along the highway to the high defined bumps on the dark grey ceiling. The low hum of the vehicles around him buzzed in his ears. The glass bottles in his backpack behind him clinked, their contents sloshing gutsy.

He bet Clary had the time of her life right now, visiting her ancestral homeland and walking in her mother’s footsteps while training with her fellow shadowhunters. And Jace had tried his best to stop her from coming with them. He hated his guts, and he had asked _him_ to try and stop her. Knowing Clary, Simon had thought that would be easy, seeing as how much of a pushover she could be, but he had been wrong about that. She had changed ever since she first met Jace, he supposed. She had gone from pacifist to activist in the span of three days and she no longer cared if others thought she was clumsy or dense, which was the whole reason she had but one friend in the first place. Nobody could tell her anything anymore, which he was incredibly proud of.

He felt the car move to the right and he lifted himself up from his horizontal spot. Trees slowly passed as his mom pulled up next to an empty fuel pump. Lying down had done nothing to help his sensory overload. More so, it seemed to have amplified it; With his sight primary blocked and his body locked in place, his ears tried to take in any shift of sound and interpret them, but his brain had no idea what was going with only a fixed spot to focus on so it just made him dizzy. 

Simon stumbled outside and puked up blood on the grass.


End file.
